


Escapes

by Ryuutchi



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Nothing could go wrong, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 04:19:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8875696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuutchi/pseuds/Ryuutchi
Summary: While Damien takes a nap, Mark finally gets a little privacy and learns some things about his subconscious.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [within_a_dream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/within_a_dream/gifts).



“The Cubs are in the Finals? You’ve **got** to be kidding me.” Mark hung his head over the edge of the dingy motel bed, pressing his face against the side of the mattress. “If this is reality, I want to go back to the 1800s.”

“You should see what the presidential race looks like,” Damien drawled. He leaned over Mark’s prone form to pick up the remote. Sure, he could have just _willed_ Mark to do it, but Mark could always tell when Damien wanted him to want something, and it made him annoyed. So Damien was making an effort to do things himself. Keep under the radar. Rein himself in. It was a novel sensation.

Mark reached up to tap Damien’s wrist. “I didn’t want to turn it off. Stop wanting me to want it turned off.”

Damien bit back a curse. “I wasn’t trying to do that.” He dropped the remote back on the bed. “Maybe if you wanted me to want something back...”

Mark muted the ballgame, taking another glance at the score before he flipped over, laying on his back. “I’m trying.” He stared hard at Damien for a minute, willing him to enjoy the game. But Damien’s expression didn’t change and Mark let out a sigh. He didn’t really want to tap into his power at all, much less tap into Damien’s power. And that made a difference somehow. “I just can’t. It’s not working. Sorry.”

Raising his hands in surrender, Damien backed away. “It’s fine. You’ve still got, you know, issues to work out.” He moved over towards the other bed and flopped out in a sprawl. “I’m gonna take a nap. Turn the sound down, will you?” He threw an arm over his eyes and tried very hard not to make it a command. He could feel the edges of his power, where they hit the sloppily constructed defenses he designed for them and crawled through the chinks like ivy, reaching to tangle Mark’s mind. He pulled on the strands of power as hard as he could and turned onto his side, his back to Mark.

The television’s sound lowered to a murmur. Mark’s bed springs squeaked. 

And Damien tried some of the mindfulness that Dr. Bright had attempted to teach him early in their sessions, as though that would help him take his mind off of Mark and... whatever it was he wanted from Mark. _Breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth. A count of three in, a count of three out. Repeat that. Focus on the breath and the count._ He’d always thought it was a load of bullshit. But with someone nearby, someone he wasn’t lying to-- well, wasn’t lying to about much-- it did feel almost relaxing. _In though your nose, 2, 3. Out through your mouth, 2, 3._

At the bottom of the eighth, Mark heard the little half-snores that told him Damien was deep in sleep. He smiled a little. The guy was a complete dick, but he was weirdly cute when he was asleep. Another look at the score, and he groaned, quietly so as not to disturb his erstwhile companion, and sat up. Did he really return from the Victorian era just to watch the Cubs on a winning streak? Shaking his head, he turned off the TV. He sat up, debating what to do-- he could catch up on Parks and Rec which, god, he’d missed that show while stuck in the AM’s basement. But he’d been bingeing on plenty of pop culture, and there was only so much information about the past five years that he could cram into his skull. Instead he headed for the bathroom, shucking his clothes along the way and tossing them on the sink.

There was something about having a private bathroom. While the AM had him, nothing he did was private. Even in the ugly sterile bathing rooms where he washed and changed, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there were cameras recording his every move. He knew because one of the times he was borrowing an ability from a telepath, one of the doctors had been thinking about him naked. It was a little disturbing. In the 1800s he hadn’t really had to bathe, since it wasn’t his physical body, but he’d done it a few times, always in a cold stream or in a public bathhouse that already had running water. He hadn’t realized how great it was to be able to lock the door and know that there was no one watching. 

He turned the hot water on as high as it would go and let the room fill with steam before turning the temperature down slightly and stepping in. The hot water hit his skin like needles, and he groaned in deep pleasure. Mark stood there a moment. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to the perfection of this moment, the hot water, the steam, the unlonely solitude. Knowing someone was nearby but not constantly invading his privacy (much. at least not when he was asleep). Mark leaned back against the cool tile, relishing the twinned hot and cold.

Without thinking about it, his hands slid down between his legs, stroking slowly. This felt good too, something else he hadn’t done much in the past half-decade. First in the AM and then lost and alone in another time, there had rarely been a moment where his libido caught up to him. But now that he was alone... Mark slid down the wall, spreading his legs as the water droplets cascaded down, sensations that made his skin prickle with sensitivity and his dick harden. His eyes closed. There had been a few moments in the 1800s, voyeuristic ones. When you’re invisible and intangible, you can go anywhere, watch pretty girls undressing, playing together shirtless. He’d felt like a pervert then, but he was home now, and there was no harm in fantasy. He imagined one of them, in a blue skirt, with her top off while she and her friends played in the sun. Her skin was golden brown and her hair was curled and dark. Mark’s hand wrapped around his dick a little harder as he let her image play in his minds eye, pleasure ebbing and flowing. He breathed through it, letting his hips arch and shake. He wanted to ride the moment, let the water trail pleasure across his chest. His head dropped back, shower splattering water into his eyes, but he didn’t care. He breathe din through his nose, bucking his hips up into his hand, running his fingers over the head of his cock, and sighing at the rush of pleasure. 

Mark let his imagination draw him further into his fantasy, the Victorian girl joined by Sam, his friend, his companion, his savior. Her hand rested on his, guiding it further, cupping his balls and playing with them, and he moaned, the sound lost under the water. “Sam...” He shifted, letting his other hand slide up to play with his nipple. She grinned in his mind’s eye, sweet and earnest as always. He could imagine her saying _What about here?_ as he tugged on a nipple, the mixed pain and pleasure foreign and enjoyable. His other hand stroked his dick faster, and he grinned, suddenly feeling self-conscious and silly under her imaginary gaze.

His imaginary friend, Damien liked to say. But Damien was wrong. Sam existed outside of this fantasy, outside of the 1800s. He began to slow down but fantasy Sam ran her olive-skinned fingers over his hand, encouraging him to keep going. Mark grinned ruefully to himself, and let his eyes close again, imagining Sam touching him, imagining kissing her. Imagining... Another set of hands touching his body. Long, with fingers that were nearly bony. Mark knew that where Sam was round and lush and vibrating with nervous energy, this set of hands, this-- Damien would be scrawny, laconic, twitchy. Her touch against his chest was solid, pinching his nipples and smoothing the pain. Damien’s hands on Mark’s dick would be just slightly too rough and just slightly too fast for comfort, but it would feel good all the same.

Mark spread his legs, mimicking the imagined sensations, letting the warmth, and the desire rush faster through his body, biting his lip to keep from moaning loud enough for the sound to make it past the door. He held his dick just a little too tight, and twisted his wrist just slightly and--oh! It felt good, his whole body jerking with the climax.

Mark let his head thump gently against the wall and lay there in spent bliss. It wasn’t until the water started to cool that he found the energy to climb to his feet and finish washing off.

By the time Mark left the bathroom, Damien was stirring. He turned over and opened one eye to look at Mark. “What time is it?” he slurred, flopping an arm at the clock. 

“7:23. Get out of bed, it’s time for dinner,” Mark said. He rummaged in his duffel for a fresh pair of clothes. When he finally stood up, he had to try not to watch Damien’s fingers twitch in annoyance as the telepath debated getting up for a food run. He tried not to imagine the way those hands would really feel around his dick.

Damien frowned. “You’re acting weird.”

Mark shrugged in return. “You’re always weird. Get up, let’s eat.”

Deciding that was a fair play, Damien made an expansive gesture. “Where are we going to eat?”

“There’s a diner down the road.” Mark said, a curl of want in his mind.

Damien rocked back a little on the bed. “Fine, I want a burger anyhow.”

Mark smiled.


End file.
